A Very Personal Assistant by Portia Da Costa Read Free Book Online Page A

peppered with a
shadowy smattering of wiry sandy hair.
    “I can’t lose you!” she cried, surging into the little hallway
of his flat, forcing him to back up. “I just can’t! I couldn’t bear it!”
    Heat and confusion flared in his blue eyes. Was he shocked that
she was here? Was he horrified? For a moment the floor seemed to shift beneath
her, then she gritted her teeth and threw her bag down, launching herself at him
and not giving either of them chance to think.
    She pushed him against the wall, cramming her body against his,
reaching up for his head, to bring his mouth down to hers. His blond curls were
wet and awry, and she dug her fingers into them as she kissed him, demanding
with the pressure of her mouth what she was too desperate to ask for in spoken
words.
    Joy, even if only temporary, poured through her when he
responded, and his arms snaked around her, holding her as hard as she was
holding him.
    Between their bodies, his cock was hard, a knot of instant,
rocklike readiness. He worked it against her, knocking his hips against hers as
he kissed her back as furiously as she was kissing him.
    Tongues and lips dueled, speaking volumes in gasping silence.
Miranda tried to struggle and wrestle with her jacket, but he grabbed hold of
her upper arms and immobilized her, his mouth cruel against hers, almost
punishing her.
    When they were both gasping for air, he let her free a moment,
staring, almost glaring down into her eyes. Was he angry? It was hard to tell,
but his expression was like a furnace of violent emotion, his face all aglow.
Even as she finally managed to catch her breath, he grabbed her again and swung
her around until she was the one pressed up against the wall. Then, in a fluid,
elegant move, almost like a supermodel shedding a layer on the catwalk, he
shucked off his robe and then lunged forward again, pressing his naked, muscular
body against her body, still in its clothes and all.
    Her hands flew to his back, his buttocks, embracing, exploring
and savoring all she’d previously been denied. The notion of skin like silk was
a cliché, especially for a man. It sounded like something that should only be a
quality of an unattainably perfect romantic hero…but it was true in Patrick’s
case, deliciously and wonderfully true.
    Just running her hands over him was a pleasure in itself, and
between her legs, her pussy clenched, wet and needy. This was the final treat
she’d been longing for—a naked, unhidden Patrick, free of the mask of his
corporate, sartorial elegance.
    He kept kissing her, imposing himself on her, his hands sliding
beneath her skirt and running up and down her thighs, flicking over her stocking
tops. “I can’t lose you, either,” he growled, before plunging in with hungry
kisses again and again.
    Miranda was floating, out of it, and only into him. But as her
eyes flicked open, and across the little hallway, she realized that the door was
still wide open, offering anyone on the landing a prime view of Patrick’s fine
arse.
    But she didn’t care, and it seemed he didn’t, either. Even when
he bunched up her skirt so he could touch her, there wasn’t a fiber of her that
was bothered by the possibility of exposure. His hand slipped into her panties
and all was right in the world.
    “I won’t take it back,” she hissed as he touched her, finding
her clitoris with his supernatural touch. “I love you. I can’t help it. Deal
with it.”
    “I will,” he replied, swirling in her slippery sex, working
her. “And I’ll deal with you…but first I’ve got to fuck you.” He kissed her,
quick, rough, deep. “Now. Immediately. I can’t wait.” He rubbed her clit in
tight little circles. “Got a condom in that bag?” He nodded in the direction of
her shoulder-bag, lying on the carpet runner.
    She nodded furiously, so close to coming that she literally
couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch as Patrick swooped down, small,
detailed muscles working his back as he